


Healing Words

by Cdelphiki



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-09-03 09:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20263282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cdelphiki/pseuds/Cdelphiki
Summary: Five times Damian heard "I love you" and one time he said it himself.1: After Damian has a bad night and a run in with his mother, he's questioning his own worth.  So Bruce assuages his worries with a midnight trip to get ice cream.  Takes place after Super Sons #14.2: When it seems no one attended Damian's school play, he's feeling a little dejected.  But then he sees Alfred.





	1. Bruce

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely set after Super Sons #14. I say loosely because I haven't read it in a year... :)

Bruce could tell instantly that Damian’s night had been a rough one.

Aside from the obvious bruising on his arms, an unusual occurrence despite what one might expect considering his nighttime hobby, his son looked worn down. And the way he just kind of, plopped down on the couch next to Bruce was the real indicator of how rough his night really was.

Because Damian just looked ... defeated. In a way he hadn’t looked in, well, perhaps years.

The most worrisome thing, however, was tonight was one of his ‘adventuring’ nights, as Clark called it. His little playdate with the Kent boy, where they tromped around Metropolis and Gotham and found cases to solve.

It was cute, Bruce hated to admit, how Damian and Jon ran around together. They were doing good work, solid cases and everything. But something about the two of them, together, while working the cases just brought a smile to Bruce’s face.

His kid was _being a kid, _he had finally realized, maybe five playdates into his and Clark’s grand scheme to make the boys friends.

And it had worked. Damian and Jon were the best of friends now. At times, they were inseparable. Bruce had even sprung to send Damian to school in another city, just to foster that connection he _finally had _to another child.

But Damian was supposed to come home from his adventure nights happy. Not defeated.

“What did you do tonight?” Bruce asked, his voice a low rumble, just audible above the crackle coming from the fireplace. The cold night wind howling against the window. He pretended to continue reading his book, while he waited for Damian to answer.

He’d been waiting up for Damian, as he always did when the boy stayed out late, but would never admit that were the case. Damian would likely throw a tantrum about trust and not being a child.

Never was it acceptable to say, ‘but you are a child,’ to him. No matter how Bruce phrased that, Damian never appreciated it. But Bruce was glad Damian was a child, because he’d already missed so much of Damian’s life. He wasn’t about to wish away a single second more of his childhood.

Damian shifted, tilted his head just slightly, before he finally said, “We saved Ms. Lane from a sniper.”

Bruce couldn’t help it. His eyebrows shot right up. He trusted the boys, he did, but that sounded like something they probably should have brought him and Clark in on. Since it involved his wife and all.

“Wow,” he said, after pausing a moment to make sure no anger would come out in his voice, “Who was the sniper? What was the motivation?”

The response Damian gave was not at all what he was expecting. Some gang, maybe. Or a hitman hired by a politician Lois had written a hit piece on. Or, hell, some random villain wanting to hurt Superman.

But no. Because Damian took a deep, shuttering breath, before simply saying, “Mother.”

And Bruce couldn’t help the sharp breath he took at the mention of the woman.

“She was trying to get my attention,” Damian said, before Bruce could ask. He pulled his feet up onto the couch and sat there, criss cross, right next to Bruce. Staring off into the fire.

Bruce… didn’t really know what to do. What to say. Damian’s relationship with Talia was… complicated. He knew she had been a loving mother to him, at one point. That Damian had adored and loved her, even after he’d come to live with Bruce. But in recent years, really ever since Talia disowned him, he’d become more jaded in his view of his mother.

It was a shame. No boy deserved to have such a difficult relationship with a parent. Especially not his _mother. _

“She-” Damian started, then paused to clear his throat. His hand twitched, from its spot on his knee. Like he wanted to rub at his face, but stopped himself. Bruce wished Damian felt safer breaking down in front of people.

“She’s still the same. Exactly the same.”

He nodded, to Damian’s confession. Unsure really what to even say. Bruce pulled his leg up on the couch, however, so he could turn towards Damian better. He let his hand brush across Damian’s neck as he placed his arm behind his son’s back, and just sat there. Hoping to covey that he was there for Damian without invading his space too badly. Damian wasn’t always receptive to physical affection, but sometimes, if offered without being blatant about it, Damian would accept.

“I’m just a weapon to her,” Damian whispered bitterly, finally reaching up to wipe at his cheek. Even though Bruce hasn’t seen a single tear escape his eye. “An _object,” _he added, with a touch more anger, scowling at the fire now.

But Bruce could see it, in the way he pursed his lips. In the slight twitch of his eye, the quiver of his hand. He was grasping onto the anger to stave off the tears.

“Damian,” Bruce started, but then paused. Because he really wasn’t sure what to say. How to fix this, and make Damian not want to cry. ‘You are not a weapon to me,’ he could say, but Damian already knew that. ‘I’m sorry about your mother’ felt insincere. As did any false promises that ‘it will be okay’ or ‘she’ll come around.’ He couldn’t even say ‘She loves you,’ because Bruce wasn’t even sure that was true.

And, God. How could anyone not love this child?

It hurt, sometimes, how much he felt for Damian. Just seeing his son could elicit a jab right in his chest. Because he was just so damn _glad _to have the privilege of being Damian Wayne’s father.

He wished Talia had felt the same. If only for Damian’s sake.

“Get your coat,” he settled on, startling Damian. Pulling him right out of his war between emotions.

He blinked over at Bruce and asked, “What, Father?”

“Your coat,” Bruce repeated, standing as he placed a bookmark in his book and tossed it at the coffee table, “and meet me at the Tesla.”

“What about shoes,” Damian said dryly, wiggling his socked feet in Bruce’s direction.

Bruce just smiled and turned from his retreat out of the room to say, “Won’t need them.”

“What?” Damian said again, this time even more confused, but Bruce didn’t give him an opportunity to continue his questions. Instead, he went to grab his own coat and start up the Tesla, so it would be nice and warm by the time Damian made his way out.

It would be a little chilly, after all, in just the thin cotton pajamas Damian was wearing. It wasn’t quite winter, but it had started dipping into the upper 30s at night. Far too cold for Bruce’s liking.

They didn’t talk much, once in the car. Damian asked only once, “Where are we going?” but Bruce had refused to answer.

“Trust me,” he had said, so Damian did. At least, he didn’t question Bruce again. Instead, he started fiddling with the radio, flipping through all 19 stations twice until he finally settled on an easy listening channel.

Not what Bruce would have expected from his 13-year-old, but he wasn’t complaining, either. He was pretty sure rap or… or dubstep would have really affected the more somber atmosphere in the car. Was dubstep still a thing? He was pretty sure that’s what Tim was into at 13. Or maybe that was Jason…

When Bruce pulled into the Sonic parking lot, Damian turned and raised an eyebrow at him. “What are we doing?” he asked, as Bruce parked next to one of the order boards.

“Strawberry cheesecake?” Bruce asked instead, smiling a little at the way Damian perked up, just slightly at the mention of his favorite milkshake flavor. He still didn’t look _happy, _but at least he wasn’t down enough to refuse a treat when offered.

“Yes,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and scooting his chair back as far as it would go. Not that he needed the extra space to sit criss cross.

Bruce ordered them both the strawberry shakes, along side a large order of tatertots and mozzarella sticks. Neither of those for any particular reason, just because he enjoyed both fried monstrosities, and if he were going to cheat on his diet he might as well go all the way.

It was for Damian, after all. That’s what he would tell himself.

“There used to be this drive-in,” Bruce said, after he’d finished ordering and swiped his credit card as payment. He’d shut the window back and flicked on his seat warmer, too, just to help warm the car a little more. Make it more comfortable.

Bruce had picked a spot where they could watch the traffic pass by on the road in front of them, and Damian seemed to be appreciating it, because he didn’t take his eyes off the cars to listen to Bruce.

“It was a little closer to the house,” he continued, “Dad would take me there, sometimes. He was a doctor, you know, and worked weird hours. Sometimes, after a particularly rough day, he’d come home and find me still awake, so we’d go to the drive-in in our pajamas and order milkshakes.”

“Hm,” Damian said, looking down at his own pajamas and then back out at the cars ahead.

“It wasn’t usually for me,” Bruce said, following Damian’s gaze out toward the cars, “It was to help reorient himself and refocus on the good in his life. I knew that, even at 6. Just maybe not in those words.”

“And you brought me here because…” Damian said, frowning. Shaking his head, a little.

“Because we’ve both had rough days.”

Damian stiffened and asked, “What happened on patrol tonight, Father? Did I miss something?” And Bruce hated how Damian got anxious, at the drop of the hat.

“Oh, nothing,” he said easily, waving a hand at Damian, as if to dismiss all his concerns, brush away the unnecessary anxiety, “Patrol was fine. A little dull, if anything.

“Tt. Did something happen at work?” he asked, scrunching his eyebrows at Bruce, now, clearly absolutely baffled as to how Bruce could have had a bad day.

“No,” he said patiently, trying to smile reassuringly, “My son came home banged up and upset.”

“I- oh.” Damian blinked. Once. Twice. Then looked down at his lap, as if studying his hands were much more interesting than talking to Bruce. Or, perhaps, less scary.

“I hate seeing you like that,” he offered. Meaning both upset and banged up, _and _anxious and uncomfortable talking to his own father.

In a too-small voice for the boisterous 13-year-old Bruce knew and loved, Damian said, “I-I didn’t mean to bother you, Father.”

“Damian,” Bruce said, pinching his nose. Because that was absolutely _not _what he had been thinking.

He was so terrible at this. He always came across as an asshole, to all his children. Some were more prone to point it out than others, but Bruce could see it. And perhaps he _was_ an asshole. If Damian’s first response was to blame himself and apologize for coming to Bruce when he was upset.

God.

“That was not what I meant. I meant-” Bruce sighed, so Damian turned to him and just sat there. Kind of staring. No real emotion registering on his face, but his eyes were so big and bright with the street lights and dash reflecting in them. The brilliant green of his iris flecked with the blue and yellow. Blinking at him, just waiting for whatever he had to say.

“I just meant,” he continued, unable to look away from his son’s eyes, “I hate seeing you hurt. Not because it’s an inconvenience, but because you’re my son…”

Damian broke eye contact first, looking down as his face pinched, ever so slightly. His cheek twitched and his nose wrinkled. Bruce would have recognized what he was trying to prevent, even if he hadn’t looked away to hide the sheen of tears.

“…and I love you,” he finished, his own voice a little wet.

At that, Damian’s face crumpled completely, and he brought a hand up to rest against one side of his face.

His crying was silent, as it always was. Barely there, hardly noticeable unless one was looking directly at his face. Bruce would never know, passing by Damian’s room, if he were crying alone.

It was just another one of the many quirks that made up Damian Wayne. He wished Damian had never learned this skill, never _needed _to learn it, but he wouldn’t change his son for the world.

Well, actually. If given the opportunity to trade the world for a happy, safe childhood for Damian, he might have a difficult time saying no.

“Your mot-” he started, but then stopped as someone knocked on his window. Bruce scowled for Damian to see, not that he was even looking, then turned around with one of his aloof smiles plastered on his face.

“Thank you,” he said, when the girl handed him a bag, two milkshakes, and his receipt. He placed the milkshakes in the cupholders, and the bag in Damian’s lap. Even though the boy was looking away now, trying to regain his composure, no doubt, before Bruce refocused his attention back on him.

“My pleasure,” the far-too-chipper girl said for 4 in the morning, “Can I get you anything else?”

After answering in the negative and bidding her a good night, Bruce rolled the window back up and turned to face his son.

Damian had smoothed out his expressions again, and was now staring down into the open bag, just looking down at the food inside.

“Where was I?” Bruce mused, reaching over to pull the straws out of the bag and open them both, for the milkshakes, “Oh, yes. Your mother is a bitch.”

_That _got a startled laugh out of Damian, who quickly clamped his hands over his mouth while he cut his eyes over at Bruce. He lowered his hands, but it seemed he couldn’t keep the tiny little smile off his face, even after Bruce had let the comment settle.

“Look,” he said, sticking a straw in one of the milkshakes, then handing it to Damian, “I don’t know what happened to tonight, or what she said to you, but Damian… you are so much more than her son. You are not a weapon, for starters.”

“I know,” Damian said, nodding as he used his straw to mix the milkshake a little.

“She may have had a hand in creating you, but so did I.”

When all Damian did was frown down at his milkshake, now resting in his lap, Bruce set his own down and turned in his seat so he was fully facing his son. He gently turned Damian’s head so he was looking at Bruce, then placed a hand on either side of his face.

“And, Damian, you are so much more than just something we created,” he said, patting a little, begging his words to penetrate. To bounce around and stick in there. Record themselves and replay, whenever necessary.

“You are so much more than us,” he continued, “You are _Damian Wayne, _and I cannot put into words how much I admire you or how much I adore you.”

It was no surprise when he felt hot tears on his thumbs, from where Damian failed to keep them in. Because his own eyes were playing the same game, just perhaps not as quickly as Damian’s.

Bruce pulled Damian’s head a little closer as he leaned down, so he could plant a kiss right on his forehead, all while wiping the tears away with his thumbs, “So don’t let whatever it is she said bring you down. You are perfect exactly as you are, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Dad-” Damian choked out, fully devolving into sobs. Actual, noisy ones… or noisy for Damian, at least. Bruce let go long enough to take his milkshake and set it back in the cupholder, so Damian could throw his arms around Bruce.

All Bruce did was hug back. Hold his son for as long as he needed. Replay that one little word over and over in his head.

Because Damian was finally letting his hurt out, and there was no way he would cut it short. No matter how cold the mozzarella sticks got or how melted the milkshakes became.

When Damian finally sat up, he scrubbed lazily at his face and smiled, a little lopsided, when Bruce offered a napkin.

“So this is what your dad used to do with you?” he asked, after he’d blown his nose and picked up his milkshake.

“Sure is.” Bruce grabbed the discarded bag and pulled out the box of mozzarella sticks. “Here, try one of these.”

Damian did, but made a face at it when the cheese just broke apart. Not even a hint of stretchy, melty goodness.

“They’re better warm. We’ll heat them up at home, and I’ll show you.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Damian said, dropping his half eaten cheese stick in the box with the others, “The milkshake is good, though.”

“Isn’t it? You have a good taste in favorites.”

And with that, Damian smiled fully, and took another long slurp of his milkshake, his smile not fading for the rest of their visit.

The conversation shifted from topic to topic from there, straying between other ice cream flavors to school to upcoming plans. They didn’t talk about Damian’s night again, and Damian didn’t seem to even be thinking about it, anymore.

As they drove home, and Damian dozed off in the seat next to him, he started thinking that maybe they’d have to start a new tradition. Clearly his dad was on to something, with the midnight drives to get milkshakes.

It was, indeed, the perfect cure for a rough night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kasyfairytaillover for the title! And listening to me babble all day and bounce ideas back and forth with me. You're the best. <3
> 
> And thank you, guys, for reading! I've got the other 5 fics outlined and hope to get the next one finished soon.


	2. Alfred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian assumes Alfred is only there for him because it's his job. Alfred sets him right.

It had been on the calendar for months.

_Months. _

Everyone knew Damian was to participate in the school play, holding the role of Captain Alexander Smollett in _Treasure Island. _

Even though it was just a middle school performance, and participation required, at that, Damian had taken a liking to the hobby and had been looking forward to his performance. Which is why, two months before the performance, Damian made sure everyone was aware of the exact time they would be expected to attend.

Grayson and Father were really the only two he wanted there, but he would not _stop _Drake or Todd from attending. If they must. Brown would even be acceptable as an audience member, he supposed.

But come performance night, how many of them were there?

None.

Exactly zero of them.

It was _infuriating. _

Damian understood why, of course. There was an emergency in Bludhaven, some serial killer dumping bodies and Dick had finally gotten the lead he needed. So, fine, whatever. Saving lives was more important than Damian’s play. But no one else had such understandable excuses.

Father’s excuse was simply a _meeting. _A Justice League meeting, granted, but how often did Father blow those off? All the time.

Perhaps the production was too childish, and that was why no one wished to attend. Damian could understand that, he supposed. Had _Drake _been in a school play, he likely would have refused to attend, as well. So he was trying not to hold it against any of them.

But…

He had really been looking forward to sharing something he enjoyed doing with his family. And the crushing feeling in his chest upon realizing none of the would attend was making him…. He- he wasn’t sure. He didn’t like it. It was making him feel like a child, wishing for childish things, and reacting in a childish way.

It was just a play. For a stupid school assignment.

There was no reason to be _upset. _

That’s what he told himself as he finished dressing in his costume, then made his way on stage on cue to start his first scene. He let all his thoughts drift away as he lost himself in the performance and didn’t think of Father or Grayson again until the final curtain call.

All the other children had parents sitting out in the audience. Parents and siblings and grandparents and friends.

Who did Damian have?

No one.

Except Alfred, apparently, he noticed with a touch of shock.

Sure, Alfred had driven him to the school, but he had no idea he would come inside and _watch. _Usually Pennyworth sat in the car and read whenever he chauffeured any of them somewhere.

Damian smiled, just slightly. In the way he did when he wanted no one to know he was happy, but couldn’t stop his face from reacting, anyway, and the warm smile Alfred returned from the audience sent warmth throughout his chest.

It helped ease the pain in his chest, just a little, to see. Because at least _someone _in their stupid family had attended. Had cared enough to attend. Right?

Had Alfred even wanted to attend, though? It wasn’t exactly his job, and Damian knew he enjoyed the free time he got in the car while acting as chauffeur. He had said as much, the last time Damian took an hour longer than he meant at a school function and apologized for his tardiness.

“I do enjoy the quiet,” he had said in response, “It is not often I am able to read for a few hours straight.”

Trying not to let himself mull over it and develop too much guilt, Damian gathered his things up and went out to the normal pickup area to find Alfred. He’d told Damian to meet him here once the performance was over, and sure enough, he was standing right there next to the Bentley they’d brought.

“Master Damian,” Alfred greeted, opening the back door for Damian to get in, “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Yes, Pennyworth,” Damian said as he slipped into the car, “Thank you.”

“I must say,” he said, after he’d rounded the car and slid into the driver’s seat, “you are quite talented, young sir.”

“Thank you,” Damian mumbled, just hoping his cheeks weren’t reddening as he sank into his seat a little. Not that Alfred would be able to see, anyway, since it was well past sunset. And he’d started the car and pulled out onto the road, already.

“I regret your father and brother were not in attendance, I know you wanted them to see, but I took the liberty of recording the performance, so Masters Bruce and Dick may watch tomorrow.”

Damian heart fluttered a little at that, but then immediately sank. Because that was why Alfred had attended. Because Father could not and Damian had wanted him there. Had Damian not expressed those desires, perhaps Alfred could have enjoyed his night off.

“Oh,” he said, forcing himself to sound neutral and not frown, ‘Thank you, Pennyworth. Sorry you had to do that.”

Alfred looked at Damian through the rearview mirror and lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean, sir?”

Shrugging, Damian averted his gaze to stare out the window as he said, “It’s not your job to attend silly school performances, and I know you enjoy the quiet-” Damian cut himself off when Alfred turned sharply into the parking lot they had been passing, then looked up at Alfred.

After putting the car into park, Alfred took his hat and gloves off, then turned around to face Damian directly.

“Pennyworth?” he asked hesitantly, because he wasn’t sure what he’d said to earn Alfred’s ire, but he was pretty sure he’d done something to make him mad. Alfred rarely took his gloves off to speak to any of them, but whenever he did, it was because he was angry about something and was about to go into full lecture mode.

“Damian, lad,” Alfred said in a much gentler tone than Damian had been expecting. It relaxed him, just slightly. “If you think I am here because it’s my job, you are sorely mistaken.”

“Wha-” he said, but didn’t finish because he was too… he didn’t even know. Confused, maybe?

“If I saw this family as merely a job, I would have quit years ago. _Decades _ago.”

“Oh,” Damian said lamely, because he couldn’t get his brain to come up with anything better to say.

Alfred sighed and added, “Damian, I love you all as if you were my own, all right, lad? I am not here because it’s my job, but because I want to be.”

There was that feeling again. The same one he’d had when Alfred smiled at him on stage. The same one he always felt whenever Father or Grayson ruffled his hair or randomly hugged him. Only now it was accompanied by a prickling at his eyes, and he definitely was not going to cry.

Clearing his throat, he nodded and said, “Thank you,” unsure of what else to say. He wanted to tell Alfred the sentiment was reciprocated, but he couldn’t figure out how to phrase it, and the thought of getting such a statement out made his stomach twist. He’d never been good at saying important things.

But Alfred seemed to hear his unspoken words, anyway, and smiled warmly before he put his gloves back on and pulled out of the parking spot.

“Besides,” Alfred said, still smiling as he pulled out onto the road again, “Where do you think you got your love for theater?”

“What?” Damian asked, curiosity piqued, now.

“Yes, dear boy, I was an actor before my employment here.”

Damian grinned at that and sat up just a little straighter as he asked, “Really?”

“Yes, young sir.”

“Would you like to see a professional performance with me, then? I was wishing to attend the local performance of _Waitress _next month, but I do not believe Father would be interested.”

“He might if you ask,” Alfred said, “but I would be delighted to join you.”

The rest of the ride home, Damian discussed some of his favorite modern musicals, while Alfred offered recommendations for classic plays.

And while he still wasn’t entirely okay with Father and Grayson blowing him off tonight, he didn’t feel quite as upset about it, anymore. Now he had a ‘buddy,’ as Grayson would say, to attend plays with, and he had a feeling Alfred would even take them to New York City to see things on Broadway, if he asked nicely enough. So perhaps it was worth the night.

Besides, now that it was recorded, he could watch his own performance _with _Father and Grayson, and see all their reactions. _That _was going to be amusing. Perhaps next time they would each try harder to honor their commitments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two down, four to go! :D
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://cdelphiki.tumblr.com)


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